


Seven Days of Sin

by Nelja-in-English (Nelja)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Blasphemy, Catholic Guilt, Catholicism, Confessions, Demons, Internalized Homophobia, Light Masochism, M/M, Mind Control, Mirrors, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Sexual use of religious objects, Shapeshifting, Shaving, Succubi & Incubi, Suicidal Thoughts, Temptation, Unwilling Arousal, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24699394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/pseuds/Nelja-in-English
Summary: Étienne tries his best to keep his lustful thoughts about men under control, until a demon takes an interest in him.
Relationships: Incubus/Priest, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 18
Kudos: 101
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	1. Day 1 - Lust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ofgodsandmonsters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofgodsandmonsters/gifts).



> Hello ofgodsandmonsters! I got your letter only after starting to write, I hope you like it anyway!
> 
> Thanks to reine_des_corbeaux for the betareading!

The confession should have been routine by now. It has been years. Étienne had finished racking his mind for every small sin of impatience he had committed, for every fear that marked lack of trust in God, for every morning he had stayed in bed a few lazy minutes after waking instead of starting the work of the Lord. It was time to confess the worst part.

"I have desired men," he said, full of shame, every time like the first time.

"How do these desires manifest?" the bishop asked. His voice was firm and full of understanding for the creature, righteous anger at the sin. Étienne hoped he sounded the same to his parishioners.

"I notice when men are beautiful," he answered. "in a way that makes my heart react, in a way beautiful women don't."

"Are you also thinking about this when these alluring men are no longer under your eyes?" asked the bishop.

"Only briefly. When I'm far away, it's easier to pray, and free my mind." He took a deep breath. "When some men who share my sin are confessing their own transgressions, I don't encourage them to go into detail, but sometimes they do, and my body reacts. It's not lust for them. I feel only compassion for their struggles and worry for their souls. But it's lust for the idea of sin between men."

The bishop asked him the same questions, Étienne promised he wasn't entertaining fantasies on purpose, that he wasn't touching himself, and that he never remembered his dreams but didn't think they were soiled with lust.

Finally, he confessed: "There's one person in particular. When he talks to me, I want to make him smile. I want to touch his hands. I want him to like me." It was the first time he went that far.

The bishop sighed. "Remember that every human is weak and subject to temptation. We can't avoid it in our lives, but we still must make every effort not to succumb to it. Fight your inclinations. If you can do it without any scandal, avoid this person as much as you can. Look for real regret in your heart. Even when it seems sweet and harmless to the heart."

He forgave Étienne. In the name of God. In his own name too, hopefully.

Étienne wanted to be forgiven by God, so he decided not to go to confession with the bishop again. He was terribly afraid he would understand. But Étienne would deserve it, for hiding part of the truth. It was not relevant to God, who he had feelings for, but he certainly was relevant to the bishop, that his calm voice, austere face and subtle smile were the objects of Étienne's sin.

The abbot of the monastery lived further away, but Étienne would go to him instead. He knew it was the best way. He felt a hole in his heart, only by deciding it.

* * *

Étienne woke up before the sun and realized he couldn't move. Cyrille - the bishop - was keeping vigil over him, and for the briefest moment, Étienne wondered what had happened to him, whether maybe he had fallen ill.

Then the bishop smiled at him. It was a very beautiful smile, and also not his smile at all, predatory and alluring.

"Don't worry," he said. "I will take care of you." 

It was his voice, but not his tone at all. Étienne hoped he was dreaming, but he didn't feel asleep, and he knew there was a possibility it might be an unholy creature. He wanted to cross himself, but he still couldn't move.

"You told your bishop you wanted to touch his hands. I have to give you this, it wasn't a lie - except maybe a lie by omission, like all the others? Don't you know that forgetting your sins in confession gives demons power over you, even when you're repentant?"

He pulled off Étienne's sheets, and looked at him, only in his nightshirt, with such a lustful gaze that Étienne wanted to close his eyes, or avert the creature's gaze, but he couldn't.

Étienne was at least glad the creature didn't pretend to be Cyrille in his words as well. Or maybe it made it all worse, maybe catching him red-handed in a lie would have given less weight to his dark truths. Because even if the imaginations had been short, and he had fought them, yes, he had had distasteful ideas of Cyrille and himself.

"If you died now, you would belong to Hell," the creature - the demon - said. "You really don't want to go there."

It raised Étienne's shirt, slowly this time. He was stroking his thighs, then his hips, cupping his ass as he lifted Étienne to raise the shirt from behind too. It touched his belly, and his torso, and his sensitive neck, all in false innocence, belied by his smirk and his perverted eyes.

Étienne tried again, but he could do nothing to stop it, not move a muscle, so he started to pray. His mind was clouded, his cheeks red with shame to feel his body react to the demon's touch, and he couldn't think of the right prayer to chase demons away, so he only recited in his head the _Ave Maria_ and the _Pater Noster_ , trying to put his whole mind and soul in it, to forget the hands, so alike Cyrille's hands, that were caressing his nipples. Oh, if he had only been able to close his eyes, so as to not see this beautiful face, not made for sin, and his own half-hard prick!

"But don't worry," the demons said, "I'm not here to kill you. I only want to give you what you really want. Remember, I know everything you haven't dared to confess."

And he took Étienne's prick in his mouth. It was - Étienne has imagined this exact vision, even if he had felt guilt for it.

It was hot, warm, and unbearably pleasurable. First the demon was gentle, licking the head like an hesitant kiss, and already Étienne felt like he was going to burst, could see his own long, fully erect cock. The demon started to swallow it, to take him deeper in his mouth, in his throat, and Étienne could have sworn it was meant to hurt, being eaten like this, but the pleasure only became even more intense, the demon's throat tight like a vice, and yet yielding. He came hard, no prayer able to stop him. His cheeks were burning with shame, not only that he hadn't been able to stop it, but that it has been so fast.

"Making a pretty little thing like you sin should count as a treat, not a task," said the demon, stroking Étienne's sweaty hair. And then he kissed him.

Étienne's mouth was half-open. He couldn't move, he couldn't bite, he couldn't scream. Only feel the lips on his, the teasing bite, and then the tongue deep into his mouth, giving him a taste of his own come, a taste of sweetest sins from before he became a priest, that he had never forgotten.

And then the demon disappeared, and Étienne was at least able to cry. He tried to pray again, but both the _Pater Noster_ and the _Ave Maria_ now had the bitter taste of shameful pleasures.


	2. Day 2 - Envy

Of course, Étienne couldn't sleep again. He didn't even try. He washed himself - the demon had left no visible stain on his body, except for the shameful, bitter, aftertaste in his mouth. He still took a full bucket of cold water from the well, and rubbed himself with a clean rag until his skin was red and even scratched, in the places the demon had touched the most. All the water in the world could not make the taste pass, but as he was biting his lips in anguish, he tore the skin of his chapped lip, and the blood grounded him.

He started his usual day by studying the Gospels. He read the pages of the Gospel of Mark where Jesus chases the demon from a possessed human, and felt better.

He still needed to confess everything about this night, and also what had happened before. Usually, one confession every week was enough, but could it wait?

But the same day, he had promised to baptize some infants. He couldn't travel to the monastery and back. And he had already taken the decision not to see Cyrille again. After what happened, it had become even firmer, especially to tell him about this night.

He would go. He needed to go. But not today. He asked his maid, a severe, skilled, middle aged woman, to prepare his travels for the day after. She didn't ask questions. He had quite often visited the monastery, even if he had never taken the sacrament of confession there, keeping his shames for the bishop Cyrille, who knew him well. He could talk about the oncoming festivals, and buy some of their beer.

His heart has almost found peace again when he baptized the two kids. He had made the right choice, at this moment he knew it. Of course, he could die any day, but so could they, and their souls were more precious than Étienne's was.

In the evening, he studied the Bible again, his mind coming back to tales of demons and exorcisms. Worry was gnawing at him again. 

Finally, just before going to sleep, he took the crucifix that was nailed above his bed, and, with a ribbon that his sister had once given him, tied it around his neck. The cross on his torso was calming, and Étienne managed to drift into sleep.

* * *

The moon was gibbous in the sky, ascending. A few clouds, like torn ribbons, softened its already pale light that was entering Étienne's room through the small window.

He had never loved to wake up before the sun. It was laziness. It was a sin. He had his maid wake him up on most days. But right now she was not here, and he was awake, and he was alone.

Not alone.

The demon that looked like the bishop Cyrille was in the room. Étienne felt the reassuring weight of the cross on his torso, but when he tried to grip it, he couldn't. He tried to tell the demon to leave, in the name of Jesus, but he couldn't talk. He told the order in his head, but the demon couldn't hear, or could pretend not to.

But the demon didn't come close.

"How beautiful you are," he whispered, but Étienne still understood every word. "Look."

And then the ceiling of his room turned into a large mirror. Étienne could see himself. He couldn't do anything else other than seeing himself, even, since closing his eyes was still forbidden to him, but he could see the shape of the crucifix, under his light sheets. He tried to think very hard the exorcism prayers again. They did nothing.

"You don't even have a mirror that allows you to see your face fully," the demon commented, looking at Étienne's poor toiletry. "How do you shave like this? But now you can see how pretty your face is. Wouldn't you fuck yourself? You bishop would fuck you, if he had any taste."

Étienne looked at his own face; it was his, with blushing cheeks on pale skin. He guessed he was young and soft looking, but it made him feel neither vanity nor lust.

"But of course, it's not only about the face," the demon said. And Étienne saw him pulling off the sheets.

The demon was not doing him to it. Étienne could still feel the thin protection against his skin. But for the reflection above him, it has disappeared, so has the crucifix and all his clothes. His alter ego was fully naked. And he was hard.

Étienne couldn't even look or touch to know if he felt the same, if it was what meant the tingling between his legs. No, of course, it was all an illusion!

"We can make it even better," said the demon. He was still playing with Étienne's straight razor. And Étienne saw him come close to him in the mirror. He wasn't approaching in reality, not so close, Étienne would have seen him.

But in the mirror, he was caressing his skin. With the razor, without even needing soap, he shaved his torso, his arms, his legs; he shaved his genitalia. The demon still looked like the bishop Cyrille, who was still fully dressed in ecclesiastic garb, only with his sleeves turned up, showing strong, well-defined forearms. And the Étienne in the mirror was smiling a ravished smile, spreading his legs.

"You have a perfect body," the demon kept whispering. He was talking to the reflection. "Oh, if only you used it as it's meant to be. You know your desires were given to you for a reason."

Then the demon massaged his whole body with some glistening oil; Étienne couldn't feel any contact, but he couldn't stop himself from imagining it. His reflection was moaning, twisting, as the demon with the handsome face was pinching his dark, aroused nipples.

The false Étienne turned on his belly, and the demon started to rub his shoulders, his back, then his ass. Playfully, he let an oiled finger enter the reflection's asshole, and Étienne couldn't hear the moans, it was just a mirror of something that didn't exist, but he had to see the long shiver that went through him, head to toe.

Then the reflection was back on his back, though still arching his back in an obscene way. the demon was oiling his shaved balls, then his cock, caressing it all along. Étienne couldn't understand why his reflection hadn't come yet; he finally did, as the demon was massaging the head of his cock. The reflection opened his mouth to cry in ecstasy. The semen was spurting, thick and abundant. A few drops landed in the reflection's mouth; he swallowed them like a delicacy, then licked his lips.

And the image disappeared, like the flame of a blown candle. Étienne realized with horror that he felt bereft of it; also that the arousal didn't disappear with it. His cock was so hard it was hurting.

And then the demon looked at him.

"Do you want to try?" he asked. "I would give you pleasures that your innocent mind couldn't imagine, even by looking. Have you seen how good I would be to you?"

Étienne had suffered already enough, but his cock twitched only to listen to this, the voice of Cyrille patient and loving, as it should be, but spitting obscene words. He wanted to scream that he would never agree to this, never fall that low. His mouth was still shut.

Then something snapped in him, and he could move again.

He raised the crucifix, said the words. The demon dissipated in thin air. His soft laugh stayed, for, for a while.

Étienne lowered his head. the sheets had moved. His prick was long and hard and beautiful. He wanted to be touched. He wanted to touch it. 

He washed it with the coldest water, and still he was burning. He couldn't even be rough in his ministrations, because he knew that it would be enough to make him come, that he was so close. The demon wanted to lead him astray, but he wouldn't consciously sin. Being betrayed by his body was enough already.

This was the day he was going to the monastery. He took his baggage, mostly small gifts, and waited for the man with the cart, who used the opportunity to bring the monks some merchandise to trade for the fruit of their trades. Étienne's cock was still hard, but he could think about something else, he had things to do. It had already happened to him, when he was a youth. It would pass.


	3. Day 3 - Gluttony

It didn't pass.

The road to the monastery was rocky and winding. There was no comfort in the cart. It was better this way, especially this day.

Étienne couldn't stop thinking about the night. When he tried to read the Bible, the bumps in the road made him nauseous, but any prayer to drive the demons away only reminded him more sharply of the details of what he had seen, what he had felt, last time he had been thinking them. Even saying them out loud, like he couldn't when he was the demon's prisoner, didn't help. After three rosaries he gave up.

He tried to think about what would happen instead. He had heard that the abbot Georges was a righteous and angry man, who saw in a darker light the desires that men had from other men than any other dirty temptations, even if they didn't yield to them. Maybe Étienne had been a coward, not visiting him before. It was what he needed.

He tried to concentrate on the steep ditch on the side of the road, on the beauty of the mountain flowers growing even between the rocks. From here, Étienne could see the stream that sprang near the monastery.

He was still aroused. He could try to make the desire flow back from his head, but it only became more concentrated in his whole body, the friction of his rough linen clothes too strong to ignore, too light to have any effect.

Maybe masturbating would have been better. Maybe it would have allowed him holy thoughts for the rest of his travel. But not now, not as he was alone with another man - a man he didn't desire at all, but it still seemed disgusting to hide this kind of sin from him, even more to show it.

The travel seemed longer than usual, the mules tired. They stopped at noon so they could eat bread and cheese, and the night was already falling when they reached the monastery. No one opened the door. The monks were praying compline. Étienne would have loved to join them, but the man with him was waiting, so he did too. Finally, a young monk came and opened the door. He was wearing a hood that hid his eyes, but Étienne noticed he had pretty lips, and burned with secret shame once more.

"Thank you for coming," he said to Étienne. "You're a little late, I will lead you to your room, you'll see the abbot at lauds. He turned to the man. "My task is to help you to unload, and then I'll show you your couch too."

"I can help," Étienne protested. "We'll finish sooner."

His help was accepted. Carrying heavy bags of flour did good to him. When the man pointed out that, with this help, they could already load the cart with honey, jam, beer casks and goat cheese, Étienne was glad for the exhaustion.

Finally, the young monk led him to his room.

"Will the abbot receive me in confession?" Étienne asked.

"Certainly, tomorrow," the monk answered.

"I mean, it's quite urgent." Étienne hadn't thought about how childish he sounded, in a monastery where monks had devoted their time to patience and study.

"I won't disturb him against his orders," said the young monk. "But I could confess you."

So despite his apparent youth, and the fact that Étienne didn't recognize his voice from his last visit, he was not a novice. "Yes, please!" Étienne answered. And instead of going to the cell the monks were lending him, they went down in the chapel.

"I have to tell you, first, that our confessions are probably more severe than yours," the monk explained. "We have harsh penitences. I will expect you to go by our rules, and undergo them."

"Of course," Étienne answered, bursting with relief. He knelt on the confessional. He knew this side, but less well than the others. And he started to confess.

He didn't detail the visions the demon had sent to him. But he hid nothing about his previous proclivities, about the pleasure the demon had given to him and the shape he had taken, about the shame of his long time arousal. He even confessed how he has found the young monk beautiful, how he was hard right now. He told him that he thought demonic magic was involved, but that his own impurity had been the starting point.

"This is indeed bad," the monk said. His voice had become severe; Étienne shivered. "Get out, and kneel in front of Our Lord Jesus. First ten Pater Noster and ten Ave Maria, say out loud."

There was a beautiful, life-sized statue of Jesus. Just in front of it was a rough, irregular slab, so the kneeling position was uncomfortable, especially if one pulled up his robes. Étienne found peace in the dull pain. He started to say the prayers. He had said, in his confession, how they had been soiled for him. It was time to reclaim them for God.

It didn't work. As he said the words, the memories of his two nights of nightmares came back to him, setting his senses alight. He kept murmuring the words, trying to feel the words, until the end, hoping for a miracle that didn't happen.

"Now crawl and kiss the Savior's feet," the monk enjoined.

Étienne did it, thinking about how Jesus had died to save him for his sins, about how he could show his gratitude. The cold painted wood seemed warmer under his lips when he kissed the feet, nailed together. 

"Kiss his calves," the monk asked. "Kiss his thighs. You love kissing men, don't you? It's your weakness and your failure."

Étienne was shocked by these words, and he turned his head, to see if it was a tasteless joke. The monk had removed his hood. He was incredibly beautiful, soft mouth, high forehead, blonde curls like the portrait of angels. His smile was wide and wicked. Étienne knew this smile.

"You promised you would endure your penitence," he said in a lascivious voice. "You gave yourself to me. You can't stop. Kiss the thighs of your god."

Étienne didn't want to turn back, didn't want to grab Christ's thighs for better balance, or to kiss them thoroughly. His body did no longer belong to him, as when he hadn't been able to close his eyes the two previous nights. The wood was still soft like flesh. Étienne pulled out his tongue and started licking.

"So good," the demon says. "You were meant to be a slut. I'm sure you're pleasing your Lord more with these kisses than with all your preaching, you're so pretty. Now suck his cock."

Étienne couldn't stop himself, he couldn't even protest that it was a statue that had no skin under its wooden loincloth. The garment parted like fabric, and under it there was a beautiful cock lying soft on two small balls. 

Étienne took it in his mouth, felt it growing slowly. He couldn't control his actions, but he should have been able to hate it! But his dread and shame were overshadowed by the arousal. It has never stopped, but it was going stronger, as he was licking Jesus' cock, sucking on it. He coughed and cried as he was taking it deep in the back of his throat, then started sucking hard again. He didn't know how to do this. He didn't need to, his body not his own, only a toy in the hands of a demon.

When the semen spurted in his mouth, it tasted like honey, nothing like his own.

"Do you like it?" The demon asked. "You're eating his flesh and drinking his blood every Sunday, it was time you did a bit for him too."

Étienne collapsed prostrate on the slab, his mind horrified by the extent of his sacrilege, his body burning with need.

"I decide when your penitence is finished," the demon said. "I could ask anything from you. I could ask you to spread your legs and take you right now. But I won't do it. Do you know why?"

Étienne didn't answer, he was too tired to try and think. He felt the demon coming close. He didn't even try to run. He shivered when he felt him petting his hair. 

"Because you want it too much," the demon said in a falsely tender voice. "You want me so much more than you wanted your god. He disgusted you a bit, didn't it? The day I'll fuck you, you'll have to choose. You'll have to ask for it." 

His nails scratched Étienne's neck. His whole body shivered. Yes, he couldn't deny his lust. He had never been able of this. He had been able not to act on it for the longest time, but it has been out of the sense of his own human and religious dignity, and what was remaining of this? And the demon was now making him so needy with very soft touches, pretense of affection instead of promise of pleasure...

Étienne stood up and ran.

He easily found the gate of the monastery. It was still not closed. He got out, and saw the brook that gave the monks water. He jumped into it.

The water was icy cold. It extinguished his lust, as he had hoped; and then it extinguished his whole consciousness, and he fainted.


	4. Day 4 - Sloth

Étienne woke up. His skin was hot, but his heart still felt cold as ice.

He was in a small room, where a fire was burning. He was lying on a hard cot or a low table, naked under a coarse blanket. He turned his head and could see his clothes drying near the fire. He also saw a fat monk with a big proud nose, half-asleep on a chair. He was the abbey's usual physician, who knew the medicinal plants of the mountain.

"What happened?" he asked. His voice was coarse and barely audible.

The monk heard him anyway. He probably wasn't really sleeping. "I should be the one asking the question," he answered in a grumpy tone. "What were you doing swimming in the middle of the night?"

Étienne blushed in shame and hid his face under the rough fabric. He remembered that he was naked, and it meant that he had no longer his crucifix around his neck. He looked at his clothes again. He didn't see it, but it could be under them, already dry.

"You need something strong," the physician said. 

He took a vial from his bag. It smelled strongly like alcohol and juniper berries. He massaged Étienne's collarbones with it. It made him feel more awake, more alive. The strong but careful fingers made him feel good. The monk did the same to his cheekbones, then to his armpit, then to his groin.

He didn't touch his cock, of course, but Étienne, to his great shame, felt it start hardening again. He waited for a reprimand, but the physician, out of decency, pretended not to notice. Maybe it was linked to the fever, or a side effect of the remedy.

"Turn around," the monk said, in a rough voice. Étienne was too happy to hide the marks of his embarrassment, as he laid down on his stomach.   
"So, you didn't answer."

"I was..." It was hard to explain. "I was feverish. And excited. I really needed a cold bath."

"Of course," he answered. "You didn't think about who would have to fish you back, didn't you?"

"There was... I have had spiritual problems. The demon is harassing me. I really didn't think straight, and I apologize."

The monk put more remedy on his neck, then he spread apart Étienne's ass cheeks, and started to put some on his anus. Étienne squealed.

"Stop screaming, and don't tell me it hurts. I know. You deserve it, but you don't deserve to die."

It hurt, but not as it should have. It was so delightful, the hard burn of the alcohol, with the pressure of the physician's fingers. Étienne's cock was trapped between the table and his body, and he desperately wanted to thrust. A finger entered his ass, then a second one, and he needed all his sense of shame not to moan in delight.

"Oh, I have no idea where your crucifix is, but it seems we have found your rosary," the monk said. "I will take it back."

His fingers grabbed something inside of Étienne's body, and he started to pull. Étienne could feel the first bead getting out, and the sensation made him dizzy.

"It can't hurt to say a prayer for every one of them," the monk said. "Not really regular, though."

"It's you," Étienne said. "You're the demon."

The monk laughed. "You took your time."

He kept pulling on the rosary. On every bead, a long shiver went through Étienne's body, putting him closer to orgasm, and tears ran down his face. Finally, for the last one, he came on the wooden table, pleasure coming from deep into his body, strong enough to make a crack in his soul.

He realized that he was still hard. Pleasure no longer meant relief. He hungered for these fingers inside him again.

The demon petted his hair. "I'm proud of you. You didn't fight, you didn't even ask me to stop. You didn't beg yet, but we're getting here."

Shame ran through Étienne's body, making him almost as cold as the icy water had. It was true. He couldn't deny it. He had forgotten, after all these other times, that he could fight - but it wasn't any excuse.

"Since you stopped lying to yourself, I will give you a gift," he said again. And then he disappeared in thin air, and Étienne was alone.

* * *

The abbot Georges - a big, muscular man with a red face - welcomed Étienne to the abbey. No one talked to Étienne about his disappearance or his almost death in the brook. He was offered to share the black bread and clear soup of the monks, that he ate with gratitude. He had not had a meal for so long! He was used to fasting, but he was not sure it was the best moment for this. He needed to be able to think straight. It was easy, then, to talk about the preparation of the festivities of Easter, and the trustworthiness of potential patrons for the abbey's beer. It made the following conversation even harder.

"I have been tormented by demons," said Étienne to the abbot, after the meal and the prayers of the day. "I badly need to confess my sins."

Georges nodded, and asked him to follow him into the confessional. Étienne had an unpleasant shiver - he had been here, and the statue of Jesus seemed to look at him with contempt. But it was because of this, the scale of his transgressions, that he needed to tell everything before God.

First he told about his feelings for the bishop Cyrille, how he had failed to keep them chaste, and had wanted to change confessors to avoid more temptation.

Then he told him about the demon's first night and how he couldn't move when he was attacked.

"Sins of the flesh are the worst, and among them, desire for other men is the worst of the worst," the abbot Georges said. 

Étienne lowered his head in shame, even if the abbot couldn't see him. He had to say everything, though, so he told how he had loved the violation, how even now, remembering it, telling it in words as chaste as he could, he was getting aroused.

"It's your fault," the abbot said. "You brought it on you. You're too pretty, too attractive to men, you have to do it on purpose."

Étienne blushed. He had known it would be hard. He had anticipated the insults, even. He hadn't thought they would start even before he confessed what he had done to the monastery's statue.

He didn't try to defend himself, and kept talking about the second night.

"When you're talking like this, you're making me want to fuck you," the abbot said. "You're such a slut already. What else is it to soil? Eugh, you disgust me."

Étienne went afraid. "You're him again," he said. "The demon."

"If anything, _you_ are the demon, for making me say such things! I will chase you forever! Go out!" and the abbot left his confessional, grabbed Étienne, and laid his crucifix on his face.

Of course, Étienne wasn't hurt, except for his shoulder who was now painfully grabbed by the abbot. "Leave, monster," he said. "Leave the House of God! What are you doing to me?"

He started to pull Étienne out of the chapel. He was very, very strong. Étienne tried to resist, but when his clothes were torn, showing the most part of his torso, he froze and let himself be removed from the place. He was expecting to be sexually abused at any moment again. He almost waited for it, in the pain, the violence, and the hatred.

But nothing more happened. The abbot just threw him away, keeping insulting him, calling his half-nudity a perversion without taking responsibility for it, and finally the doors of the abbey closed behind Étienne.

It was cold, and the night, again, was beginning to fall. Étienne rolled into a ball and cried.


	5. Day 5 - Greed

"How are you, my beautiful priest? Did you like my gift?" It was not Cyrille's voice - it was the pretty blond monk from his first evening here.

"What did you do to the abbot?"

"You take the tale of people's sins, and give them heaven for this, isn't it what you do? I just gave you a gift. From now, they will really tell you everything. I'm sure you will enjoy listening to their confessions now."

Étienne laughed bitterly. "What do you think I will do? I'm impure, I'm sick, and it's cold in the mountains. I'll never be back. It's better this way."

"I don't want you to die," the demon said, and he stroked Étienne's hair. Étienne couldn't stop himself from shivering to the touch. It was not fear. It could even have been a good feeling, if it had been the loving touch of a mother, and not a depraved, hellish assaulter.

"You deserve better than this church's hypocrisy," the demon kept going. "Blaming others for sins that you're committing yourself."

"We also blame ourselves," Étienne protested. "That's the way it works."

"I chose you, because you really believe this," the demon answered. "I'm not interested in most priests and monks. They're all hypocrites, corrupted souls who lie to themselves that their sin is lesser than the sin of others. You're the reverse. That's why God doesn't deserve you."

"You're a demon!" Étienne protested. He didn't want to hear. He didn't want praise, didn't want anything nice. If anything, the abbot had been right to hurt him, even if Étienne could barely believe it had been the truth of his feelings.

"Oh, really, it's what you want?" the demon asked. And he pulled up what was remaining of Étienne's cassock. The wind was blowing cold on his legs. "If it's what you really want, I can hurt you all night."

Étienne let out a strangled sob. The demon was already lying on him, his skin warm. It felt good. He moaned when the demon grabbed his hair and pulled it.

"It's the other reason you joined the church, isn't it? Not only because you thought that you could never marry and have a normal life, but because you loved the cruelty of penitences. You were exalted at one time, flagellating yourself regularly. You were still innocent, you imagined that you loved it because of religious fervor. Then you grew up, and understood it was a sin. An act that is usually praised can become a sin when you love it, while it stays exactly the same."

"The point is to hurt!" Étienne protested.

"Probably," said the demon. And then he bit Étienne on the neck, hard, drawing a bit of blood. Étienne's prick twitched. "Were you disappointed that this man didn't take you?" He made him roll on his back, face him. And then his face changed, looked like the abbot. His hands were rougher now, as they were grasping Étienne's torso. He slapped him with his huge palm. "You like to be told how much of a pervert you are, don't you? You like to be punished."

"Please no!" Étienne protested. 

He didn't expect this to change a thing, but the demon's grasp became softer, and his face changed, becoming the bishop Cyrille's. Softly, he stroked Étienne's hair. Étienne felt tears gather in his gut. He has already been crying, but he knew the demon was able to make the difference.

"Do you want the one you love?" the demon asked. "Do you think he also secretly wants you? You know you can just ask him."

"Why are you hurting me?"

"Because I like you. I thought it would be easy to break you, but you are different."

"In case you didn't notice, I'm very much broken right now," Étienne answered, the venom of his resentment distilled in his voice. "You won. Go away."

The demon nodded. "If you die right now, you will go to hell."

"I will."

"I don't want you to die," the demon said. "Lucifer deserves you as little as God does." 

He changed his face again, the blonde monk Étienne knew. He was so incredibly beautiful, Étienne felt warm only looking at him. It was not the pull on his heart when he looked at Cyrille. It was a full light, already the hint of an otherworldly pleasure, the pain of never knowing how it would feel, curiosity pushing lust to its extreme. He was hard, of course. He has gotten used to it, to resisting it.

When the demon kissed him, Étienne wanted to stay inert, to ignore him. He couldn't. His body was on fire, his lips craving his touch. He could feel his own hard cock against his belly, and he squirmed, rubbing himself against the demon's body. It was different. He wasn't controlled. He just couldn't find the strength to fight back. It was like his soul had already been stolen, or at least damaged beyond repair.

"I will fuck you," the demon said.

"You wanted to make me beg first," Étienne reminded him. Why was he saying this? Did he still want to protect himself, or was it some ill-advised pride?

"I can still do this later," the demon answered. "Believe me, you will want me even more after you taste it the first time."

He parted Étienne's legs and lowered his head. Étienne wasn't watching, but he knew it was the demon's tongue, overwhelming him with lust, opening him up. He moaned again. He was past shame, past any illusion about how he could have had. Decency was lost to him. The demon tried to softly touch his cock, teasing him. Étienne arched his back in pleasure.

"You're so good," the demon said. "No other man ever touched you, and I will make you mine forever."

He entered Étienne slowly, carefully. Étienne felt so full. He wondered how big the demon's prick was. He wanted to know. But he wanted even more for it to stay in his body, to wrest unearthly pleasures from him. It was barely moving, and already sending pleasure waves all through his body. When the demon started to thrust, it was so much more than his adolescent masturbation, all the sinful pleasures of hell crashing on him, all the delights of paradise of Adam and Eve living love without shame. The demon was lapping at his neck, kissing, and then biting hard, offering Étienne a pain that was only more pleasure. He came, and again, and then he stopped counting. He was hurt, he was exhausted, and he was still coming.

"Please," he was asking, "please..."

"What?"

"Please stop." there was time, and maybe another orgasm, because he could explain. "I can't take it." His breath was too ragged, his mind in shambles, his body erupting with pleasure and light. "I can't take it."

"You can be so polite when you want," the demon whispered in his hair. "I will stop if I come. Ask me to come."

Étienne opened his eyes. Even through the tears, he could see the demon's beautiful face. His lips were red and slick with saliva. 

"Please come inside me," he asked. Words were hard to come with. 

"As you wish, my beautiful priest," the demon said, and Étienne felt the demon's semen spurting inside him. Then the thrusts stopped, and he laid here, exhausted. If he had hoped for some clarity back, it didn't come. He only wanted to sleep.

"You have part of me inside you. Forever." It was the last thing Étienne heard, apart from the flapping of wings.


	6. Day 6 - Pride

"You look good," the maid told Étienne.

"What?" Étienne felt deep guilt only hearing this. He had woken up in his own bed, and for a while, he had hoped it had all been a nightmare. But then he had felt an owl feather against his naked stomach, then others, and others. His cassock had disappeared, and he had had to wear his spare one. Also, the images had been too disturbing. A dream couldn't feel so good, or be so bad.

But she was right - he was no longer feeling any tiredness or fever. 

"When I see you like this, I regret not having had children," said the old woman. "Maybe they would not have turned into ugly perverts like all men are, after all." The old woman hid her mouth, her yellow cheeks almost red. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Étienne answered. "You can be honest with me." He was not honest with her, he thought. He had never been so much of a pervert as he was today. "I was sick, at the abbey, I fell into the river. My memories are... lacking. Can you tell me which day we are?"

"Saturday!" The woman said. "I'm relieved, I thought you were to ask me when and how you had come back, and I have no idea."

It was the day where Étienne usually listened to his parishioners' confessions, before the Mass. The demon had warned him: under a curse, it would be different.

But even if a few of them have been lying to him, he was still able to save the souls of the others. Even if he couldn't protect his own. It was not... he didn't need to be sinless to have them regret their sins before God.

He just couldn't do it to himself, and he was afraid of not regretting his actions enough for it to matter.

The first confessions went normally, and he felt good. His people were not liars, not like the demon had pretended to know. Then went the miller, who confessed to him some... money arrangements he had never told about.

"I don't feel regretful at all!" he claimed. "I wanted this money!"

"But you need to repent for your sins to be forgiven," Étienne tried to insist.

But the man just got angry, and complained some more. He was becoming violent, when Étienne told him that the pardon of God had no value if he didn't repent, and he had to be stopped by the men of the village. After his confession, Étienne was not surprised to see they took pleasure in it.

Étienne feared he would hear a lot more sins than usual. It didn't happen, not really. Most people had told him the truth. They had just lied about their repentance, when they were actually quite proud. Maybe, in the eyes of God, it was worse, and Étienne was shivering for them. He had hoped he could save them for their secret sins, he understood it now. But he had just made things worse.

"I wasn't committing all this sin of the flesh," one of the pretty young girls of the village told him. "I told you because... you were nice, and I was thinking, maybe, if you thought I had no virtue, you would be interested. Also, I was collecting all this forgiveness for later. I can always use it, I think?"

"I was the one to murder my husband," said an old woman, "all those years ago." Then she started to cry. "I had never found the courage to confess it before."

As the people of the parish came and went, Étienne started to feel nervous. Most of these people didn't plan to tell him the truth, and for having it stolen from them, they resented him. And they were right. It was dark, demonic magic after all, even if Étienne had no way to make it stop. 

It was getting late, when Étienne heard a voice on the other side of the confessional - he knew it, and didn't expect it. It was his demon.

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned," he said.

"Make it stop!" Étienne asked him. 

"It's not the right moment. Hear my confession first. Then, you'll try to find a way to justify your request. You will explain to me why you want to defend your flock's right to lie in front of your God." Étienne blushed, as if he had been the one in the wrong.

"I was an angel once," the demon said. His voice was like a song, making Étienne shiver all over. "I have never met God."

"I was an angel of pleasure. The taste and the sound and the temperature of the most beautiful river of Heaven, it was me. The view, the scent of the flowers. I was also the best for giving pleasure to my fellow angels, to soothe their souls and the bodies they had chosen.

"Then the war came. Lucifer was my lord, and I followed him blindly. I think I was a little in love with him. We fought against other angels. I was the best at making them lower their guard.

"But finally, we lost, and my lord Lucifer was cast into Hell, for disobedience against God. They just didn't know what to do with me, and a few others. Our sin had been too much obedience. Could we really be punished for disobedience? I think even Michael understood the absurdity of it. So we were not cast in Hell. We were turned into night birds with magical powers, and condemned to live on earth.

"The others, they wanted to pray to God to get into Heaven again. But I doubt he heard us. He wasn't even here when we fell. I didn't pray.

"So I had been condemned for having been too obedient. I decided it was time to catch up. I disobeyed every one of the Church's orders, and it was so sweet! They tell me I'm disobeying God, but I don't know. And you don't know either. Lucifer was telling us he was right. So are the men who wrote your holy books. You know they were human men, don't you? Full of lies. Maybe obeying what you think are the words of your God will condemn you to Hell. It can happen.

"Oh, the pleasure I took, having human beings disobeying the rules! It was even sweeter than doing it myself. All humans are hypocrites who can't resist pleasure. I have tempted hundreds of them, all believing themselves without sin. Some of them had killed, stolen, lied. But it was not important. It was what they believed of themselves."

Étienne's cheeks were burning, and he was glad he was sitting, since his knees were becoming weak. Why was he so aroused by these claims of evilness, by this honeyed voice? It was probably a lie, he tried to convince himself. The demon had forced all people to tell Étienne their truth only so he could lie to him. All his excuses were wrong.

Oh, he didn't love him, so why did he want so much to kiss his mouth, to embrace him?

"Do I have the time to tell you all these tales?" the demon started again. "I can at least try.

"There was this old hermit. He had ran away from the world and his temptations and was living alone. When I came to him, I was naked, but I pretended total innocence. I feigned ignorance when he asked me to cover my nudity. This purity that was lost to him, despite his wishes, became what he wanted from me. He fought temptation for weeks as I gave him gifts and had him chase me away every day. When I kissed his cheek, he hit me. When I kissed his lips, he shoved me away. When I knelt and kissed his prick, he started to cry. He didn't stop me when I started sucking. And then, when I stopped, he begged me to keep going.

"He put himself under my power this way. After this day, my body became more important to him than food and water. He humiliated himself for me, he blasphemed for me, on his knees, admitting he wanted me more than he wanted the love of his God, all while hating me more than everything.

"I had him wear paint like a dirty young woman, and go back to humanity this way. He was old and he was ugly, and shame still mattered less to him than the pleasure I could give to him.

"I know that you want me too. I know that you're hard right now. I am too, thinking about you. You can't see me, but I'm touching myself right now. I'm good at this. You should do it too. You want to do it, and I want you to, and you know it's far less of a sin than what you've already done. Still, you're not letting yourself go."

Étienne was not. He was even trying to stay very still, afraid of the touch of the cloth on his hard, leaking cock. He forced his mouth to close, even if it was getting harder to breathe, he swallowed back the drool. Even this made him think impure thoughts. He wished he had never seen the demon's face, to be unable to imagine the shape of his lips now.

"But it's not time for you to explain yourself. I have more stories to tell. There was this young monk, who had just taken his vows and thought he would stay pure all his life. His own fantasy was to love a prince. The gold and the purple, the power and the honour. I haunted his dreams for days, but he was not like you. The idea it had only been dreams, it was reassuring him. He hoped to have a life of purity in the day and a life of sin in the night, all in comfort.

"When I appeared in front of him for the first time, I asked him to follow me, to be my personal spiritual adviser. He thought these dreams had been prophecies. He didn't even protest when I asked him to spread his legs for me, he thought he was destiny. He called me Lord and your Majesty as he was begging for my cock. I told him that I was claiming him before God. That his virginity would belong to the crown.

"I cursed this one too. Every time he heard God mentioned as the Lord, he remembered me, as aroused as he has been this day, and he imagined God taking him. Then he came, visibly; sometimes he had time to isolate himself, but not always. And in his shame he was still enjoying his ecstasies.

"You wanted for the one you loved to take you. You wanted to be blindly obedient, which I hate. And still you are not, not to me. So I decided I wanted more.

"On the first day, I offered you your first taste of pleasure. On the second day, I made you wish for more. On the third day, I made you commit sacrilege. On the fourth day, you stopped fighting. On the fifth day, I gave you a part of me. And on the sixth day, you used and abused the power I offered, convincing yourself you're doing good.

"It took God six days to create the Earth, and it took me six days to create a demon. Tomorrow, I will look at my work, and rejoice. Maybe now, if you're ready.

"Go on, my sweet priest, think about me. Think about my cock, how nice it was inside you. Imagine that I make you see it, that I let you touch it..."

Étienne came without any touch, with a sob. 

"Do you repent?" Étienne asked.

"No," the demon said. "Never."

"I understand. I forgive you," Étienne said again.

"Wait, it was not —"

"You wanted to confess. I forgive you."

The demon laughed. "You know, you're right. Which way could be better to show you that your little ritual has no power?"

Étienne had a lump in his throat. He was waiting for the demon to confront him again, but he had already left, and he was the last person in the confessional. It was night already.

He understood too much, and he didn't want to. He was too close to be able to forgive himself acts he couldn't.


	7. Day 7 - Wrath

Étienne could sense his flock's mistrust like an unpleasant smell. They had all come, maybe even more than usual. But they were tense, waiting for something. Maybe his fall, maybe his pity.

It has never been so hard to say the words, when Étienne was doubting them at every line. Humans had written them. The words of God had never been said. You could only trust the ones who had been Jesus Christ's closest friends - or who had said they were. Étienne knew history. He knew that many heretical versions of the Gospel did exist, only accessible to a few theologians. Étienne was not one of them. But he had known them. They had been good Christians.

Had they doubted?

Even the music of the organ couldn't soothe his soul, and before reading the Gospel, he took a decision.

"I've been unfair to you," he said. "I have believed too much in telling God the truth, so I have forced it out of you. And this is unfair, because you don't know anything about my own sins." He took a deep breath. "I have desired men. For this, I have been harassed by a demon. He has visited me, put me to the test, hurt me. And he has made me doubt. I no longer deserve to be your priest."

He could see the eyes of the crowd. Were they becoming red? No, they were just horrified, and angry. They believed it. Maybe they wouldn't have, if they hadn't come here today with the feelings something was wrong with him.

For the first time, Étienne wondered if he could get out of this alive.

"Really?" a voice said from the crowd. "Remove your cassock, then!"

Étienne knew this voice. He knew why no one was contesting it, even himself. It was fair. He did. He was still wearing a shirt and trousers under it, but he still felt obscene, naked in front of God.

Some people were trying to hide the eyes of their daughters. No one was hiding their own eyes, no one was covering their ears.

"You loved every second of it, being visited by this demon, didn't you?"

Étienne could recognize him. He was advancing in the central alley.

"No!" he said, with such sincerity that the crowd's murmurs got calmer.

"Tell me about what you liked," the demon said.

Étienne couldn't say if it was the curse of truth, or his own decision to stop this whole mockery that made him answer. "He gave me pleasure beyond imagination."

And then he screamed. "Yes, I'm ashamed about it! It doesn't mean that I will lie! You're all ashamed, and then you lie! It felt good. That's why it's a sin, even if I tried to resist so much!"

"Do you think pleasure is a sin?" the demon kept advancing. He was wearing ordinary human clothes, but there were feathers in his cloak. He was so inhumanely beautiful, his face seemed made of light. Étienne realized it was the first time he saw him in the day.

"I don't know if sex between men is a sin, I no longer know," Étienne said. "But I have promised to stay chaste, and betraying a promise is always a sin. We don't need God to remind us of this."

"Yes, but you're no longer a priest, are you? So you renounced every one of your promises. Would you want me, if it was not a sin?"

"I want you anyway," Étienne answered. He was sure it was the curse of the demon, now, that made him expose his shame in front of all these people who had believed in him. But he deserved this. And they deserved to know that even priests had dark desires. "It's just that I hate it."

"Would you still hate it?" the demon asked.

"No," Étienne answered, trembling. He was not sure of what he was going to answer.

"I was in Heaven, I have slept with angels. I know the rules better than you will ever do." The demon climbed the stairs and joined him behind the altar. "Remove your trousers."

Étienne did. He was not feeling forced to do it. He was just tired, so tired to lie to himself. To hide his desires. He wanted men. It was part of him. He wanted this beautiful demon, and it was not - but even if it was only him being changed, enough of a demon himself to long for heavenly beauty rather than heavenly virtue, he wouldn't hide it. He had been told both were equally wrong anyway. Even not hating yourself for feelings he didn't act upon has been a sin.

"Touch yourself," the demon said, smiling. He was talking to Étienne, but looking at the whole gathering, who didn't dare to move. He was a demon, they had understood this, but still too beautiful for them to flee. Or maybe they just didn't want to catch his attention, huddling against each other, too happy to see that they weren't his victims.

The softness of his voice made Étienne want to obey him; so he did it, very softly, because he didn't want to come like this, in front of everyone in the church. He wanted to be fucked, like the other night, to be lost in pleasure and forget. Maybe he was going too far. He had said that even if he was not sure about sin, he knew that honesty and sincerity were good, and now, he wouldn't lose this too.

"Bend over the altar, my beautiful priest."

Étienne looked at the men and women who had been his parishioners, and waited for their judgement.

"Don't worry," the demon whispered in his ear. “Rumors of you having demonic intercourse? They would have killed you. Seeing the fact? They will be so afraid of you, of me, that they won't dare to touch you."

"It's not this kind of judgement..." Étienne started. 

He had turned his face to look at the demon. He was now all naked, and Étienne could really look at him for the first time. His face was as beautiful as ever, his body slim and muscular and unmarred, without a hair. He had two huge wings in his back, white and brown. Étienne didn't want to look at his cock, but of course he did. It was hard, barely darker than his skin. It was big indeed, and beautifully shaped, framed by beautiful hip bones. 

Étienne was naked and he could still blush.

"Bend over the altar," the demon said. Étienne knew he should have protested, he should have felt anger, but he was broken. Maybe the source of his will had always been his belief in the righteousness of the Church. Maybe he wasn't strong enough to develop it by himself.

He bent over. He felt the demons' cock rubbing between his ass cheeks. Oh, he wanted it inside him, he wanted it so much!

"Tell all these people what you want," the demon whispered, still pleasuring himself on Étienne's body. The untold threat that he could leave him this way was unbearable.

"Please fuck me!" Étienne cried out, knowing that everyone could hear him. "I want, I need your hard cock inside me. I need the pleasure to invade me, to soil me, to possess me." He was crying. "I don't know how you did it, but you made me this, an empty and rejected thing that needs you, because it has lost everything else."

"You're more than this," the demon said. "I'll show you. I'll fill you. I have already started. Let's do it again."

And he entered Étienne's ass, slowly. It made him cry and moan, in pleasure and pain.

"Look!" the demon shouted, as he was thrusting into Étienne, harder and harder. "I'm taking this man from God, in front of your eyes! He was the best and the less sinful of all yours, and now he's all mine!"

Étienne would have wanted to deny it, but of course, it was all true. The demon had put part of his essence in Étienne, and it was taking over his mind, after having already stolen his body and his soul. He spread his legs wider.

Once again, he forgot how many times the demon made him come, his own semen pouring forth again and again, soiling God's altar and his Holy Book like a river of sin.

"Take this instead of the blood of Christ!" said the demon to the flock. "So many of them would like it better!" And Étienne couldn't see the demon's face, but he could see which people were now averting his eyes when they had looked with eager eyes. They were aware of their sin, and Étienne wondered - would they have acted on it? Was the demon keeping them still on their chairs, like he had on his first night?

As he was wondering, the doors of the Church opened wide, and the bell rang with no human hand involved, people understood that they needed to run, that they had to run.

"We are alone now," the demon said. Étienne only moaned.

"The altar was good, but we have so many other places here to desecrate," the demon whispered. And Étienne nodded.

* * *

"Listen," the demon said. He was now licking on Étienne's perpetually hard cock, in the confessional. Sometimes he stopped to tell the story of another of his victims, then started again. The most Étienne begged for orgasm, the longest his stories were. "They're here."

"Who?" 

"Your people won't want to let you this church. Don't worry, they can do nothing to me or to you."

"We should leave," Étienne answered. The sting in his heart was maybe shame. He was not sure."

"I think you will want to see them," the demon answered. Étienne was too tired to protest, too aroused too. the demon opened the door with a movement of his hand.

It was the bishop Cyrille, in full garment, a Bible in his hand.

This time, Étienne was sure he was feeling shame. Cyrille was advancing slowly, praying. He was shivering, in horror or in fear.

"Look at what I've done!" the demon told Cyrille. "Look as this wonderful creature, beautiful as an angel, depraved as a demon, like me. And it's all thanks to you! If you had accepted his pure love, without any ambition for consummation or even reciprocation, if you hadn't told him that even happy thoughts about love are a sin, maybe he would have been strong enough to resist me. But now, all is fulfilled. Don't you think you should repent for this?"

Étienne wanted to flee, to be anywhere but here. He wanted the bishop's forgiveness, but he knew he was out of reach for it. He was naked, and hard, and his ass was leaking demon semen.

"Oh, I know how," the demon said. "You could easily purify him, with your tongue. Be very nice to him, as I love him, more than you do"

Cyrille knelt and started licking Étienne's asshole, at the same moment that the demon was licking at his cock again. Étienne cried out as he came, and fell. Four hands gathered him, and before even he was able to wonder whether Cyrille was controlled by the demon or had really wanted this, he got lost in pleasure again.


End file.
